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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936763">a moment in borrowed time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/upontheavon/pseuds/upontheavon'>upontheavon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"it takes time", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'm gonna resolve it, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, Work In Progress, Yearning, also power hungry and stupid, canon divergence at ep 124, just a lot of emotions tbfh, probably, slow burn??? maybe???, the M9 are protective assholes, the reunion we really wanted, wizards being gay and stupid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:01:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/upontheavon/pseuds/upontheavon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Essek and Caleb have a midnight meeting regarding shared guilt and one red eye. Things derail from there.</p><p>(In other words, if the events of Campaign 2 Episode 124 went a little differently)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. part one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“I know that I exist on borrowed time.”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Deep in the frozen north, beyond draconic lairs and winding lava rivers, an outpost stands. And in these halls of stone and metal, a voice echoes, belligerent and foul-mouthed.</p><p>“Don’t make me throw this-- this stupid bowl--” Beau curses, grabbing the nearest object in their makeshift chambers, “--at your stupid face.”</p><p>Her voice is low as she brandishes it at Caleb, who stands by the door. Around them, their friends slumber. Veth all curled up, Fjord and Jester snoring with their hands inches apart. Yasha is passed out stone cold and still, the bedroll next to her empty. The wizard in question reacts little and says less, collecting a pair of books and clutching them to his chest. He stops at the door, finally sparing the mistrusting monk a glance.</p><p>“I will be fine, Beauregard.” His tone is empty and even. “And if I am not? Well. Raise some hell over my dead body, ja?”</p><p>The wizard ducks as the metal washbowl clangs onto the wall behind him. It’s a dull sound, as dull as the poor attempt at humour in his voice. And then he’s gone, the door closing behind him. He hears Beauregard grumble, her voice muffled as she trades words with one of the others. Probably woken up by the noise.</p><p>‘Sorry Caduceus,’ Caleb thinks idly, walking down the winding hall. He tells Frumpkin to curl up with the firbolg tonight, to help ease him back to sleep.</p><p>It <em>was</em> stupid, wasn’t it? Essek himself said he wasn’t to be trusted. But he said so many other things, too. He curses his own meticulous memory, echoing those mournful words of a man lost in regret. The agonizing clarity of one’s actions in retrospect. He shivers. That moment in the doorway. It wasn’t enough. Not because he felt compelled to comfort Essek, but in a way, comfort himself. As if he looked into the mirror of another power-starved man long enough that forgiveness would just manifest itself.</p><p>It was… complicated.</p><p>Regardless, he knocks on the double doors of the chamber they’d previously spoken in.</p><p>After a far too long pause, Caleb turns with a sigh and begins to leave.</p><p>But then the door creaks open behind him. Scheiße.</p><p>“Caleb?”</p><p>He stops.</p><p>“Ja. Hi. This is…” Caleb turns on his heel. But being caught in his retreat seems to stall his usual composure. He pauses, collects his wits, and steps decisively closer to the door. To Essek. “I require a bit of study on a difficult matter. Before we set the space you requested between our two parties.”</p><p>The drow stands there, blinking, feet set on the ground as his fingers curl around the edge of the door. Expression both weary and oddly… open. He nods and simply opens the door further.</p><p>“Come in, come in,” he murmurs, perhaps an edge of eagerness in his voice that unnerves Caleb. “Pardon the disarray.”</p><p>The room is immaculate, despite some papers splayed across the large desk surface. The idea that this is ‘disarray’ for Essek brings a brief twist of amusement to Caleb’s lips. The chair is pushed away from the desk slightly, as if the drow had just stood to get the door. Sure enough, Essek returns to the table, pushing some files around and setting a quill back in the inkwell. He sighs in some sort of relief and pushes some hair off his forehead, turning with laced fingers to face his guest.</p><p>Caleb trails behind, eyes roaming the room with calculated paranoia. Mostly a study, with a cot set in the back corner, covered by the black drapery of some sort of makeshift bed canopy. At last, he meets Essek’s gaze. Though the drow is suddenly glancing down to his hands, twisting a silver ring.</p><p>“You said you needed something?” the Shadowhand inquires. Though it seems he can’t hold himself back from rambling further. “I apologize for requesting your departure so suddenly, but… well. We still have tonight, at the very least. A worthy risk, if there is anything I can do to help.”</p><p>A joyless smile touches Caleb’s expression.</p><p>“Yes, well,” he begins, voice breathy and eyes flickering in thought. “We are in this together now, are we not? Space is wise. Space is smart.”</p><p>Mindless reassurance, though the distance between them has the words feel emptier than those he said before, in that same doorway that now stands at their backs. He exhales, stepping towards the desk. Out of the open space of the room in which he feels set adrift. Towards the flickering candlelight that outlines Essek slightly, leaning against the table. Caleb begins unwinding his mottled scarf.</p><p>The drow sits up straighter, sharply attentive as always. He looks almost apprehensively down his hawked nose at Caleb, brows furrowing, but he doesn’t speak or stop the man. The scarf hits the ground.</p><p>“I tried to make sense of the book. Lucien’s book. I had to, you know?” he begins, voice forceful and words chosen with a cutting precision. “The opportunity was too good. Perhaps he knew that, perhaps it was all his design. But no matter. The voices, they came to us-- me. In dreams.” <em>The dreams. The dreams. The dreams.</em> “I bear a mark now,” he continues. “No magics have worked on it, nothing clerical at least. I know you know nothing of the eyes of nine, but you know the arcane. Better than I do, perhaps. Or there was a time when you did.”</p><p>As he speaks, his jacket is laid on the chair behind the desk. He’s circled behind Essek now, eyes glazing over papers of various reports and equations. The Shadowhand turns and glances briefly down to them, and there’s a twitch of an impulse there, but he does nothing. He simply looks upon Caleb with a slow-dawning understanding. He wets his lips before speaking.</p><p>“You bear a mark, now? From a dream, or… this book?”</p><p>“The book,” Caleb clarifies, waving a hand with a slight frown. He still hadn’t deciphered those pages entirely, those ramblings. Those patterns of nine. “Or rather from these entities, the Somnovem. Just… have a look, okay? I know not else what to do. And my friends. They worry.”</p><p>His smile turns with regret, thinking back to Jester’s concern. Thinking back to how… he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t do it again.</p><p>Essek nods. He seems to, if not completely understand, at least have enough of a grasp on the situation to act.</p><p>“Show me. I will do what I can to discern its properties.”</p><p>The drow gestures Caleb to come back around to the front of the desk. He backs up a few steps as he gestures, allowing the other wizard to brace himself against the surface if needed. Caleb does so, hands firmly on the edge of the table. After a moment’s hesitation, he sits on it, lifting himself up and shifting back. No different from a medical exam. All business.</p><p>Essek blinks and seems to laugh a little, almost. It’s microexpressions, really, and would be missed if Caleb wasn’t staring at him so intensely. The drow steps forth. His fingers grip a pendant around his neck, drawing it out from beneath his robes. With a click, the locket opens and reveals a glittering black pearl. He pauses, seemingly awaiting the mostly-clothed Caleb to guide him to this mark. The silence is uncanny.</p><p>At that clear sign, Caleb exhales and removes his shirt, beige and mottled from the weary weeks north. At the very least he was able to bathe in their guest room upon arrival. All the same, his upper half is bruised and weary from travel. And upon his shoulder, the red eye stares. There’s a small intake of breath from Essek. From seeing the eye, of course. Of course.</p><p>“I’ll have someone deliver fresh clothes to your chambers by morning,” the drow comments offhandedly, eyes fixated on the mark. His fingers curl around the locket on his neck.</p><p>Caleb chuckles at the strangeness of the statement.</p><p>“If you insist,” he replies. Seemed the least of their worries. But Essek was Essek, and no one of the Nein would object to such treatment. He was sure Jester and the others would be quite pleased. “You are a good friend.”</p><p>The words catch at Essek for a brief moment, his eyes flicking up to meet Caleb’s. But he doesn’t reply, and soon refocuses on his task. His eyes gleam with a white glow as he mutters the casting of Identify. It’s strange however, as the wizard seems to executing a more complex casting, using the divination elements of Legend Lore to probe deeper into the origin and effects of the mark.</p><p>A minute passes as Caleb sits, swaying every so slightly with tiredness. At first he was analyzing Essek, to absorb his arcane technique, but the weight of the day is fogging his mind. He sits entranced as the spell seems to take hold. Essek reaches out a hand, fingertips brushing over the mark.</p><p>Suddenly he jolts back with a cry of pain, as if struck by a psychic lash. He stumbles, falling over with a hand to his temple.</p><p>“Essek? What went wrong?” Caleb snaps, immediately back on his feet. He felt nothing odd at all, from the mark or otherwise, just the brush of fingertips and then Essek was hurt. After a cursory glance around the room, he kneels next to the fallen wizard. A hand reaches out instinctively.</p><p>But he recoils slightly from the offered touch. He breathes unsteadily, though he seems to be calming.</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine, just… your mark is warded from detection spells. I should have known, but it was… very well concealed. Typically one needs runes for such a ward to keep hold, but…”</p><p>“Did you get anything?” Caleb interrupts, too intent on his goal.</p><p>Essek shakes his head.</p><p>“No. Well. Yes. The voices, as you said. They seem to be what is warding you, in a sense. Or were called here in defense of you… or the mark. Or both. It is unclear to me.”</p><p>The drow pushes up on his elbow, taking stock of his own feeble display and splayed robes. He scoffs. A familiar expression, one of those mirrored ones the other wizard knows so well. The shame of a failed spell. Caleb’s lips purse as he watches Essek’s elven ears flatten with an edge of restrained frustration.</p><p>“It is to be expected,” Caleb says, softer now. “But that was something-- that is further than I have gotten. Thank you, thank you." He offers his hand once more. “We have turned your brief respite from enemies abound into another sticky wicket, have we not? No matter. Here, let’s…”</p><p>Essek takes the hand as the two rise back up. The drow huffs and brushes himself off primly, clearing his throat as he regains composure.</p><p>“No, you simply took me up on an offer of sanctuary. You did not know what kind of mess that would entail. The threads around us are tangled at best,” Essek replies with a wave of his hand, stepping back to put space between them. But then he looks up with that look-- that determined look. To know more. To overcome. To solve the unsolvable.</p><p>“We have time,” Caleb says lowly. Essek’s expression twitches from hungry concentration to a sharp smile.</p><p>“For tonight, we have time, yes,” he agrees. “Or if not… we will make it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey y'all thanks for reading my first piece of Shadowgast, drop a kudos or comment to motivate my dumb ass into writing. second part coming soon, it's underway!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. part two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I have spent so much of my life focused on myself. My climb, all of my selfish needs..."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hours pass as old tomes are cracked or simply recited from memory. The conversation is stilted and bubbling up between spans of thought and research, but a new angle is being calculated. Caleb tells Essek a little more about the mark. Reluctantly, he speaks to some of his visions of the astral sea and the strange things that reside there. This gives Essek a jolt of inspiration, sending him hovering to a chest laden with belongings. He throws it open, withdrawing a small spellbook.</p><p>“The top desk drawer,” he snaps, blinders on this one idea as he points. Caleb pushes to his feet from where he was sprawled on the floor with his notes. “I need mushroom powder, saffron, and that little vial of seal fat. Grab the mortar and pestle; ratio 1:1:2 in that order, make about a teaspoon total.”</p><p>It was sudden, as well as the furthest they’ve gotten with any sort of plan or spell. He recognises it immediately as he grabs the pestle and mortar, as well as the tiny scoop to measure out components.</p><p>“True Seeing?” Caleb queries, curiosity in his voice. But not opposed. It wasn’t a spell in his book--yet. “What need have we of the Ethereal Plane?”</p><p>“Not the Ethereal. If my hunch is correct, we can perhaps use your mark as a sort of tuning fork, attune the spell to the Astral Sea. Perhaps then it will reveal something about its nature. The spell directly affects one’s sight rather than identification spells that probe the item or person. It is less likely to… alert or provoke the entities you have unlocked some knowledge of.”</p><p>Caleb can feel Essek’s eyes on him as he works, measuring out the materials. His hair hangs red and dull in his face, though most of it is drawn back in a ribbon Yasha gave him once. He begins to grind everything into a sort of salve or paste consistency. His arms get to work, thin and wiry and moving in practised motions. He glances up, checking if he’s doing it right, only to find a distant look in the Shadowhand’s expression. He has to restrain himself for wondering yet again what the star-eyed drow was thinking. Of course, there were magical means of that. But mind-probing magics had always disturbed him. He preferred the concreteness of transmutation. The predictability and control. He hums in thought, candlelight flickering next to him on the desk as he finishes grinding the paste. He dusts off his hands and crosses his arms, still shirtless, but with his scars hidden beneath wrapped bandages.</p><p>“Essek? It’s worth trying, ja?” he comments, brow quirking up.</p><p>The other man seems to snap back to reality.</p><p>“Yes. Perfect,” he murmurs to himself, gliding over to the desk with his eyes downcast. “Here, you may want to have a seat. The shift in senses can be… startling.”</p><p>The desk chair next to Caleb shifts, pulled out by an unseen servant. He nods and sits.</p><p>“You’d prefer to cast the spell on me, rather than yourself?” he asks, curious about the reasoning.</p><p>Essek looks up from the spellbook cracked open in his hand.</p><p>“Indeed. It’s notably riskier, since the mark might sense your senses changing. But you’ll be able to make much more sense of the astral visions than me, should the spell work. Just a matter of… experience. I’m new to these matters, simply here to help you see clearly, as you have helped me.”</p><p>Caleb shifts in his seat, hands gripping the arms of the chair. He looks up at the poised drow, fighting off a yawn before he speaks. They’d been here for hours.</p><p>“Yes, well, you’re a bit more than that, are you not?” he rambles, waving a hand absentmindedly. “We can tell ourselves all we want that we advantage one another, but this meeting is a prime example of the opposite. Seems we are but two unfortunate souls, drawn together for reasons I’ve yet to understand.”</p><p>It’s a startlingly philosophical statement. Essek is immediately distracted from his spellbook, vibrant purple eyes squinting at the seated wizard. More expressive than usual, perhaps from the late hour. He opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again. Caleb shifts once more, chin tilted up, unblinking.</p><p>“Well. It is not… entirely unexplained,” the human elaborates, wishing to fill the silence. “I would have said once that we climb the same ladder of potential, power, so to speak. At times lending a hand, at times pushing ahead or falling behind.”</p><p>Essek’s shoulders seem to lower slightly, relaxing into the topic. He tilts his head, listening for more. Caleb continues.</p><p>“But it is hard to walk, ah, side by side with people. On a ladder. When the Nein found me. When we found you… things changed. Like you said. We walk a new path. Wide and winding and full of pain and confusion and… perspective,” he says with emphasis, Caduceus’s words to Lucien mixing with Essek’s own from that very day.</p><p>The drow seems to pick up on Caleb’s train of thought, fingers still skimming the spell designs on the open page in his hand. But his mind is on the moment, or so it seems.</p><p>“I feel these days…” the Shadowhand begins slowly, “it is as if I am walking backwards. Untangling threads of past mistakes. And it feels… it feels so much like lost progress, it drives me mad sometimes. I dream of the times when I felt in control. But when I do, I also wonder… did they even exist at all? Or has my hindsight been too busy glorifying moments in which I was… a different kind of flawed.”</p><p>Caleb feels many things, listening to that admission. His expression melts away, away from the furrowed determination to walk his way through their strange chemistry, this draw between them. To explain it away. And here Essek was, throwing him for a loop once again with this deep and resonant kinship. Caleb sighs, drawing the other man’s attention from wherever his faraway gaze wandered.</p><p>“What?” the Shadowhand asks sharply, though his voice is softened by proximity. Low and curious. Perhaps too quick.</p><p>“Walking backwards,” Caleb repeats, musing. The faintest smile. “It takes--”</p><p>“Time. I know,” Essek finishes, almost mockingly. No, just… amusement, perhaps. He sets aside his spellbook on the desk, hands moving primly with fingers extended, rings shining in the candlelight. Caleb exhales, biting his lip in an attempt to hold back his words. But he fails.</p><p>“If you truly knew that, then you would not rush yourself.”</p><p>The criticism brings Essek’s jaw to clench. Caleb straightens in his seat. He knows it’s not his place to make such judgements, but he does so all the same, and he refuses to back down. A strange feeling drives him. Was it this kinship? Or perhaps an odd sense of protectiveness. Or was it just criticism for criticisms sake, the same kind he unleashed on himself simply bubbling up against his friends?</p><p>Essek sighs. The convenient hovering stops as his feet lower once more to the ground. He leans a hand on the desk, rubbing his temple with the other. Looking far less imposing, simple dark grey robes cascading down to the floor. He wasn’t all that tall.</p><p>“Caleb…”</p><p>Hearing his name in that sighing tone, Caleb’s shoulders curl in slightly. But he doesn’t take back his words.</p><p>“I know logically, many things,” Essek explains to fill the silence. His voice is low and gentle. “I know I should not rush myself through this guilt. That I cannot swallow it or set it aside. I cannot sprint my way to some kind of redemption-- though that’s a distant dream, for the things I’ve done. I also know that I will feel that pressure all the same. The urge to run that led me here. The urge to force myself to overcome my regrets, only to remake my mistakes from lessons unlearned.”</p><p>Caleb crosses his arms, brows furrowed as he sinks back into the chair. He wants to interrupt, to probe further, to push the man. But he would be a hypocrite to try. So he stays silent, trying to accept each word, though they clashed with his cynical perception of the other man. His idea of forgiveness, of redemption and mistakes made.</p><p>“But like I said, I have… I simply have no time. So I must strive to forgive myself with every action, every word. I know I run the risk of not properly understanding the gravity of my mistakes, but by the gods, Caleb,” he expresses, turning to look at the human with that oddly defeated expression. “I would rather rush myself to acceptance than live in… in constant regret. I’ve spent enough time recalculating exactly where I went wrong. Feeling the weight of each misdeed. The immense guilt of knowing that if I had the chance, I might do it all again. I simply do not know. I think back to the person I was and I just… cannot find it in myself to ask him not to do what he did. I’ve wasted enough time bathing myself in pained memories, in wake and in dream--”</p><p>“It’s not a waste,” Caleb murmurs suddenly, causing Essek’s speech to trail off.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>But Caleb doesn’t know how to respond or elaborate. He doesn’t know where those words came from, or why they feel so important to him. Perhaps it was the Nein’s visit to the top floors of the tower the other day. The nine rooms. He freezes, instantly caught in that backwards web of thought and regret. Was it all a waste? His mourning, his burden? He needs to remember them. Who else will? Who else can?</p><p>Suddenly Essek’s hand lifts to his chin, tugging his gaze back upwards to those amethyst eyes. It’s a sweet, but momentary distraction. Soon broken by the Shadowhand’s prim explanation.</p><p>“The ointment will lose potency if we stall any longer. I must cast the spell, close your eyes so I may apply it.”</p><p>Simple orders, clear and easy to follow like all of their sessions of instruction past. Caleb does so, mind quickly and viscerally shifting gears to the matter at hand. Essek's touch steadying his face, Caleb feels the drow gently dab the tingling-cold substance on his eyelids. His eyes flutter slightly, still closed, adjusting to the magics as they swell. Soon, the elf incants a short yet complex phrase, tracing his hand in the air to the arcane runes of divination for the True Seeing spell. A beat of silence passes.</p><p>“Open your eyes. I hope-- I hope it has taken hold,” Essek murmurs, his hand withdrawing from Caleb’s chin and the soft stubble there.</p><p>He opens his eyes to a brilliant flash of distorted colours. It’s startling and strange, ethereal and yet… not. A dark grey and cosmic fog overlays his sight in a strange double vision. It occupies the space between any two things, between the floor and ceiling, between one bit of air and the next. Between his fingers, his hands. Lights blind and flare, the borders of the room fading into space and nothingness. He stands, turning in a full circle to cast his eyes across the strange space. The new sight. Quickly, he glances to Essek.</p><p>“Seems to be working--” he begins, before his vision focuses on the other man.</p><p>A brilliant mote of light. A life. A soul. This strange and twinkling starlight among a cacophony is greyish cosmic colour. He smiles. Such a beautiful discovery. Such knowledge and revelation.</p><p>Essek’s voice comes through, clear but echoed.</p><p>“The eye, Caleb. You must focus on it,” he reminds the starstruck wizard, gesturing softly to the full-length mirror on the far wall.</p><p>Caleb is preoccupied, entranced watching his movements ripple in the ephemeral space.</p><p>“Hm? Ah. Yes, yes.”</p><p>He crosses the room towards the mirror. Away from the candlelight and starlight and moving through the indistinct inbetween. He turns slightly, revealing the blood-red mark in all its glory and horror. Around him, he sees floating chunks of matter ripple and descend into the floor. The ruins of Aeor seem to build up around them, the whispers of the living city slipping back into his mind. His eyes lock on his shoulder as the eye impossibly widens, drawing him in.</p><p>Lost. Lost in space. It feels like the realm of the dodecahedron in the strangest of ways, except without those stretching threads of potential. The many lives he could live. The many lives he never will. But this? There is no ‘him,’ no definition or differentiation. He’s melting, and all that is left is the eye, the eye, the eye. Red and glowing and full of voices.</p><p>They speak with such frayed yearning. Pleasing, begging, convincing. They claw out angrily, lovingly, desperately. They want something… no, they need it.</p><p>“What do you need?” he whispers hoarsely into the space, his own eyes glowing a strange red in the mottled mirror. “What do you want from me?”</p><p>A dozen voices merge in and out of one sound. The dreamer’s voices.</p><p><em><strong>“We want to help you see.”</strong></em> There’s a strange thudding sensation in his mind. Not the pulse of blood, but as if something was knocking against his mind’s fortress from the outside, pushing in. The voice is searingly loud, resonating in his skull. <em><strong>“Give us your eyes.”</strong></em></p><p>Caleb cries out, finally, succumbing to the pain and force of it all. He stumbles and closes his eyes, staggering towards the mirror with a lashing fist. The start of a firebolt brims in his hand until it curls closed, leaving only a trail of smoke. His hand impacts the glass with a resounding crack. Web-like fractures fragment his vision, eyesight tinged with… blood? He blinks it away only to see reddish tears smeared on his hands. His body sags against the broken mirror.</p><p>“Ut auferat magicae!” Essek’s incantation cuts through the grey-sludge cosmos, bright starlight flaring up like a white-hot sun. His hand extends to dispel his own magics as well as whatever strange cosmic evils were causing his wizard to stagger and cry out in pain.</p><p>And just like that, the spell snaps, fizzled away. The voices, gone.</p><p>Caleb falls to his knees in front of the mirror, relieved.</p><p>With a rushing sigh, Essek follows. He kneels, just as Caleb did for him, a soft hand halfway extended. It settles on Caleb’s back after a hovering pause.</p><p>“It’s okay now,” he hushes, breath moving quickly with lasting adrenaline. Caleb swears he can hear the drow’s heart beating out of his chest. But perhaps that’s just his own. “You’re so very strong. You’re alive. It’s okay. You did it. You’re safe.”</p><p>He exhales raggedly at those words. It still felt all too alien to him.</p><p>“I do not feel... any of those things,” the Zemnian states bluntly, tone empty and void.</p><p>“Well that is foolish,” murmurs Essek, though he purses his lips after, as if he didn’t mean to choose those words.</p><p>“I feel that one,” Caleb grumbles.</p><p>“Not what I meant.”</p><p>The drow’s hand smooths down his back still as Caleb pushes up to sitting. He contemplates pulling away from the drow, from the hand, but he hasn’t the energy. He simply observes his hands, finding no mark. A finger touches the corner of his eye, pulling away; no blood, either. Then he glances to the mirror.</p><p>Ah. But it is fractured. That was true, not some strange distortion of his vision. And there they both sit in a split reflection, two wizards so alike in their oft-broken dignity, in their violent delights and violent regrets. Essek watches intently, eyes following Caleb’s gaze to the mirror. Cracked, though no shards have fallen. Not completely shattered. As they meet eyes with their reflections, Essek’s hand withdraws to his lap.</p><p>“I am sorry,” Caleb begins, words stilted. He pauses. “It was successful to a limited degree. But still, the Somnovem were… aware of me. They see, well, all. I felt the, ah… mental anguish, so to speak. As if they are… pressing, trying to get,” he gestures to his temples, hands tense, “in. They see through us. In some way. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>“This is costly progress,” Essek warns in response. “Not in materials, but in pain. The risk, perhaps, of losing your mind to them. I felt the same toll. I… do not advise trying the same thing twice.”</p><p>“I must try something.” Caleb grits his teeth, frustration bubbling even as his vision is still balancing out. He put himself and Beau in this mess. He needed to get them out of it. To solve it. To fix it.</p><p>“You will. We will,” Essek reassures. He sounds tired. Tired, but invested in this moment. This stolen time, of midnight hours and conversations. “I can give you the notes for adjusting your own casting of True Seeing. I simply advise that you do not do it… unprotected, as we have tonight, in our hurry. You must build your defenses against such intrusions of the mind. See, without being seen.”</p><p>A silence stretches. It all made perfect sense. And yet they were delicately dancing around the pain itself, the irresistible urge that sent them both into mental anguish in pursuit of answers. So, too, had they set aside their discussion of regret and time. Perhaps they would never agree on such matters. Perhaps they didn’t need to.</p><p>Caleb gives a shuddering sigh and pulls Essek close, forgoing propriety to simply draw the elf into a comforting hug. He feels the other man’s hands hover slightly over the bare skin on his back before gently floating down, clothing and fingertips barely touching him. With a smile and sadness in his eyes, Caleb adjusts his face in the crook of Essek’s neck and exhales. His grip is tight. Unyielding. Decisive.</p><p>“You know, I have been meaning to--”</p><p>And that’s when the crossbow bolt strikes Essek in the arm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have another chapter planned out! don't you worry. and sorry for the cliffhanger, this part was getting too long for my taste. </p><p>I hope for this series to be about 5 chapters long, depending on how quickly things resolve. thanks for reading!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. part three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I would be lying if I said that… our paths crossing hasn’t shaken me to the core."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few things happen in quick succession. First, a crossbow twangs. Next, Essek cries out in pain, falling onto his elbows. And third, Caleb rises quickly to his feet, flames broiling in each curled palm. He turns towards the door with murderous intent in his eyes, hands raised as he begins the incantation to raise a wall of fire in defense. But the words oh so suddenly falter as he meets eyes with their attackers.</p><p>“Caleb!” Veth shouts with motherly concern as she lowers her crossbow. “Did he hurt you?”</p><p>And what a sight it is in front of him. The Mighty Nein, or half of them at least, stand in Essek’s doorway in their pyjamas. Yasha looms unarmed in the background while Beau and Veth have their weapons (or fists, in Beau’s case) brandished in the front. A passed-out guard is leaned in the hallway behind them, robbed of his hand crossbow that the halfling now wields. Behind Yasha suddenly comes Jester, running past the group in her swishing skirts. She cries out upon seeing Essek’s wound.</p><p>“Nott! What did you do!” Jester fusses, rushing over to the pair.</p><p>The fire in Caleb’s hands extinguishes. Of course.</p><p>“...You, uh... alright there, bud?” Beau pipes up, awkwardness palpable in her tone. Her fists lower. “You kind of gave me free reign to come kick some ass if you went missing, so….”</p><p>“I am fine, Beauregard,” he mutters lowly, mind overwhelmed with the chaos of the moment. It could have been an assassin, just as easily, couldn’t it have? Perhaps then they wouldn’t have missed. Perhaps then, Essek wouldn’t be crying out in pain at his feet as Jester wraps her hands around the bolt.</p><p>“Oh Essek I am so so sorry, she didn’t mean to,” the cleric frets, ripping open the bloody sleeve of his robe. It was a clean hit through the muscle, at least. With uncanny strength, she snaps off the metal bolt tip and grips the end, ready to pull. At the same time, her other hand hovers, fingers wiggling as she incants a Cure Wounds.</p><p>Meanwhile, Caleb looks dead-eyed towards the group. A clattering of conversation overlaps.</p><p>Veth pipes up, “Listen. Listen. I was working off what Beau told me. And you’re not wearing a shirt!” she announces, as if that’s some evident proof of foul play.</p><p>Beau shifts her feet uncomfortably.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry,” she states bluntly, no trace of apology in her voice. But she seemed to be getting tooth-pullingly used to the phrase. “You didn’t come back, I told Veth when she woke up for her watch, and then I brought Yasha to stop <em>me</em> and Jester to stop <em>Veth</em>, and…” the monk trails off, crossing her arms as she backs up to nearly bump into a quiet Yasha.</p><p>“Well that didn’t exactly go to plan,” Caleb says in his soft critical tone, though he’s already entirely accepted the events. Family was family. For better or for worse. In the background, Veth and Beau begin bickering over the specifics of their midnight shenanigans.</p><p>He sighs and kneels next to Essek. The drow is in the midst of making muffled winces as Jester finishes slowly pulling the bolt out, sealing the flesh behind it. Caleb grips his shoulder tightly, unspeaking for the moment. The Shadowhand gasps in relief as the wooden shaft is entirely removed.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Caleb asks lowly, the whisper audible only to Essek and Jester.</p><p>Essek nods, but does not yet speak. He looks pale, inches away from a heart attack. He, too, seems to be aware that this could have been a very different encounter in the middle of the night. The Shadowhand levitates to his feet, dismissing some guards that have gathered outside his door. They slowly shuffle off, dragging the body of their unconscious peer. Essek clears his throat, bringing Veth and Beau’s chattering voices to an abrupt stop.</p><p>“This is the second time in half as many days you have shown me some… security flaws of my enterprise. I thank you all for your concern, but as you can see…” he gestures with a torn and flowy sleeve to Caleb beside him, then pauses and purses his lips at the wizard’s state of undress, “...your friend is fine, and we were simply caught up in study of his…”</p><p>Beau starts glaring daggers at Essek with her arms crossed, causing him to trail off, confused. He folds his arms back together as well, inadvertently mimicking her.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he continues with finality. “Please, all of you. You must rest.”</p><p>Beau and Veth seem to make a quick escape. Jester, still lingering, traps Essek in a brief hug. She pulls away with a bright, if strained, smile.</p><p>“Come back soon Caleb,” the tiefling says with an edge of a whine in her melodramatic voice. “Or not!” she squeaks. “I’m notyourMOMor<em>anything</em>-- bye Essek!”</p><p>She pat-pats Essek on the head before rushing out after the others.</p><p>Yasha, however, steps forward. The drow’s attention is drawn to her in her sudden attempt to speak. Caleb notices too, watching her with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“I, ah,” Yasha intones, voice deep and soft. “I am sorry.” She pauses. “We… we do this to people. Sometimes. We are trying to… to stop.”</p><p>She nods, done speaking. Essek, surprised, nods back as Yasha leaves, her soft footfalls retreating down the hall.</p><p>“What she said,” Caleb echoes, a fondness in his voice for his barbarian friend.</p><p>“A moment?” he suddenly requests, turning to face the Shadowhand once more. He says it decisively, despite the harm and the panic his friends caused. He has a strange feeling that Essek will agree in spite of it all. An uncanny understanding.</p><p>Essek nods and steps back, turning away slightly as his eyes cast around the room. They linger on the mirror. He doesn’t speak, seeming to let Caleb have the floor. Expectant.</p><p>“I am sorry for the foolishness of my friends. They care greatly for me,” he tries to explain, brow furrowing in search of the right words. The right emotions.</p><p>But Essek grimaces, small and imperceptible to but the keenest eye. The words aren’t right. Caleb knows it as soon as they slip out. There’s a moment of pained silence as the gap between them grows ever more palpable. They were <span class="u">Caleb’s</span> friends. They care for <span class="u">him</span> and him alone. Not for Essek. They’d hurt Essek to defend Caleb, without a doubt. Without hesitation. And they just did. Caleb bites his lip and searches for new words, fixing words. </p><p>But a moment later, Essek smiles. Not his usual prim and proper expression, but a genuine smile, both joyful and miserable and everything in between.</p><p>“It is no concern. Perhaps my reflexes will be sharper as a result… Next time.”</p><p>The response makes Caleb scoff. Next time? The next time they meet, the Nein and him? Or the next time a rogue in the night puts a bolt in him. Or tries to. Caleb licks his lips before replying, talking a step into the space.</p><p>“You know." A pause. "If the world weren’t falling apart around us, Essek, I--”</p><p>“Caleb…” Essek intones, cutting him off. A warning. “We don’t have time for such...”</p><p>“I thought you said we’d make time,” he quips in return, oddly confrontational. There was so much adrenaline still in his veins, ground saffron smeared on his eyelids in a flash of orange-red. Highlighting the tiny fires reflected in his grey-blue eyes. </p><p>The drow man shifts. He raises a hand absently to rub at the sealed wound in his arm. A brief wave of regret encompasses Caleb, but he pushes it away. Like Essek said. A waste of time.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Essek murmurs, eyes alight with a strange bittersweetness. “The world<em> is</em> falling apart, dear Widogast."</p><p>And wasn’t that the truth. The bitter truth, the truth by which his entire spirit is weighed. Against which he struggles and fights every day with his friends. Caleb’s jaw clenches as he steps forth once more. Each step measured and weighed. An experiment. Part of him feels like he does it just to see that flick of the eyes, that tense reaction of a deer in the headlights. The other part of him? Does it to see what comes after. As he hypothesized, Essek chooses to relax. His shoulders lower. He chooses to trust. To stay in place and slowly watch Caleb get closer. Despite it all, there was still part of Essek that trusted him implicitly.</p><p>And trust is one hell of a drug. He stops a few feet away.</p><p>“But if it wasn’t falling apart?” Caleb proposes, eyes downcast even as he approaches. Though he can still see Essek through his lashes. “If the world weren’t… if things weren’t the way they were.” He doesn’t know where he’s going with this. His heart pounds in his chest, drowning out everything else. “I would stay.”</p><p>His meaning isn’t clear. Stay here, tonight, in his chambers? Stay in the outpost? Simply… stay? Through it all, like no one else has? Like no one ever will, perhaps, for a man like Essek. A man composed of politics and poise, living in his perfect glass tower for one. </p><p>
  <em>'I would stay.' </em>
</p><p>Essek blinks. He seems to process all these meanings, sorting through them to make some sense of it all. He tilts his head, hand lifting into the space between before lowering again. He gives a dry little laugh.</p><p>“Suppose we’ll just have to fix the world, then,” he suggests, seeming to relax in this stolen moment. Though his breath is shallow and catching. It’s a hero’s folly to say and he knows it. But he says it all the same, and the comment makes Caleb smile.</p><p>“Sounds easy enough."</p><p>“No,” the drow admits with a proper laugh, turning away.</p><p>He collects Caleb’s scarf from the floor, his jacket from the chair, and his shirt from the desk. Gently, they’re extended out to him in a pile. He nods, taking them in both hands. Feeling a slight nervous shake in Essek’s own. The Shadowhand was putting on a brave face. But Caleb knows the thin line between cowardice and wisdom all too well. He smiles, trying to be reassuring. It was the least he could do after all this.</p><p>“Will you be okay?” Caleb asks at last, words of concern breaking the silence. They’re expectant in their own right, awaiting a positive answer that may not come. Or if it does, it will not be an honest one. “Falling asleep, after all that.”</p><p>A smile curls on Essek’s lips.</p><p>“I have ways of easing myself into my trance. I am not as vulnerable as you, in such a state. But whether awake or asleep, I will fear. My existence is forged out of it. Fear and resilience. Caution and analysis,” he murmurs truthfully, though evading the concern of his mood or mindset. “I built myself up to a point where I could see hundreds of thousands of threads of possibility leading me forth. And now? I have the pleasure of watching them be cut, or simply wither away. It is a… perhaps karmic justice. Though I find taking a bolt to my arm from your group? Rather unjustified.” His smile quirks. He’s not entirely serious, but there’s an undertone of the slightest resentment. “You…. you may reassure them. I would never do anything to harm you, Caleb.”</p><p>Those inscrutable elven eyes meet his blueish own. He searches for deception, searches and searches and before he knows it, he’s lost in them. Finding only earnesty. Something… bordering on affection. The Zemnian startles slightly. He always pushed this strange chemistry with the drow. As if picking up a game of dragon chess where they left off, every time they meet. He always moved so aggressively, so offensively, trying to gain the advantage.</p><p>He never expected to encounter such a defense. With every push forward he made, Essek was growing and adapting. And at last, Caleb had met the most disarming defense against harm of all. Indisputable loyalty.</p><p>“Essek, I…” his voice trails off, words failing him even as the gears of his mind whirr and click into place. His hands hang by his sides, pile of clothes gripped lazily in one. Books still splayed on the desk.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Essek murmurs, shaking his head. Tone reserved once more. “Go back to your friends. They need you more than I do.”</p><p>Almost without thinking, Caleb's free hand lifts. He cups the side of Essek’s face. His touch is feather-light, but soon grows bold as he strokes a thumb across the drow’s cheek. Caleb draws him close, not with a tug... but by simply allowing the magnetism between them to bring them together, forehead to forehead. Essek makes a soft sound of surprise, breathy and accidental, but after a moment, one hand settles on Caleb’s forearm. His eyes close.</p><p>“I need them more than they need me,” Caleb replies at last. “And I hope, someday, you can rely on us the same way we rely on one another. Trust is… trust is growing. Despite how it appears otherwise.”</p><p>He pulls back if only to look Essek in the eye. Though his gaze trails up slowly, taking his time to compose his words. And to compose his heartbeat, it seems, as it betrays him by racing.</p><p>“I would be lying if I said I was not envious of what you… what you all have,” Essek admits, a small rueful smile set in place. But his breath is faltering too, and he seems to melt into the touch. His hand grips onto Caleb slightly. Grounding. Secure. “The very suggestion that I may have a place among you someday is, well. A great kindness.”</p><p>Caleb smiles. He’s never thought of himself as kind. But his people were. People like Caduceus. Perhaps it was finally rubbing off on him.</p><p>“You are worthy of kindness.”</p><p>It’s a simple phrase. Five words passed between them like secrets traded in the night. Upon saying it, Caleb glances over his shoulder, briefly breaking their closeness. Essek immediately takes it as a sign to step away, but then Caleb takes him by the hand. The arcanist stands there with a beyond confused expression, stars in his eyes. It was rather endearing.</p><p>“Goodnight, Caleb,” Essek whispers, sounding almost like a question. He looks down at their joined hands. But he doesn’t let go.</p><p>Caleb exhales, hand slipping away. They were out of time. </p><p>“Goodnight, Essek.”</p><p>And without goodbyes, without warning or note, the Mighty Nein disappear the next morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>eyyyyyo, two updates in one dayyyy I'm on a writing rolllll</p><p>JSYK, I think I'm going to continue this series with more canon divergence. I'm only on episode 125 right now, hoping for some more inspiration soon as I weave my Shadogast moments into this arc of the campaign. Next chapter ETA... later this week perhaps? Bookmark to find out I guess! </p><p>Anywho thanks for reading!! I haven't posted fic in *years* and it's been such a nice return. </p><p>....I PROMISE I'LL RESOLVE THE TENSION EVENTUALLY</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. part four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Minor C2E125 spoilers in chapter</p><p>Now that I have nearly caught up (one ep behind, rip)!! I am simply pretending! C2E127-129!! Did not happen!!</p><p>At least not in this story. So for folks who are up to date on the show, [super minor spoiler warning, no one named] this would mean that after their visit with Essek at the Outpost, the Nein visited Rexxentrum to study and Nicodranas to see family. But notably, did not anger a Certain Someone in their quest for magical cloaking. Instead, they sent a sending to Pumat in advance and were able to commission and acquire enough anti-scry amulets from him. Wouldn’t that be nice?</p><p>And on with the story!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t want to see Essek again. </p><p>And there's a strange kind of anger in that thought. Something hot and writhing from someplace deep within him, fearful and uncertain. He fears the things he’s compelled to say when he’s alone with the Shadowhand. Empty promises and wishful thinking of a different time, a different world. </p><p>But it was no use. He knows that’s where this conversation will lead, without a doubt. They need him. </p><p>After their research at the Cobalt Soul, one of a handful of locations they’d visited upon leaving the outpost, they’d come upon some knowledge. The Soul’s inquiries into the nature of Aeor and the Astral Plane had borne some fruit. A fictional account of a spell led to a historical account, which then led to a type of odd ritual book. It was ciphered, but the Soul had gotten it partially decoded. Over 3 days of rigorous study, Beau and Caleb had completed the translation. As one does. </p><p>And at last, with knowledge unlocked, the bud of a plan came into being. There was a ritual spell capable of halting extraplanar travel in a large area, a version of Antimagic Field. Ironic, isn’t it? Using Lucien’s own magic against him. Typically the spell would take multiple magic users to complete, but the ritual book contained notes of an incomplete theory that when amplified by a residuum focus, the spell can be cast by a single, powerful arcanist. In theory, they could use it to stop the Nonagon from travelling to the Astral Sea in the first place. But if that fails, it could also be used to stop them from using the Threshold Crests in the Astral Sea. Or at least suppress the process for as long as the ritual was active. </p><p>Hypothetically, of course. And not for long. The Nein would have a 10-minute window to catch the Tomb Takers by surprise, to finally, hopefully, defeat them. But they couldn’t do it alone. </p><p>And Caleb’s mind is too accustomed to patterns to not recognise this one the Nein has. They go off on their own time and time again, but it always comes back around to needing people. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, but he knows it’s true. They have few friends, and even fewer who would go to such lengths for them, but Essek… </p><p>His eyes drift to the staff of Allura in his lap while voices scatter around him. They have their trinkets, their new distractions, these blessed, priceless items. ...But will they really help? Because after all, the use of an item relies on the skill of the wielder. And he felt oh so much like a child wearing their parent’s clothes, drowning and fumbling just to keep them on. </p><p>And so now, the Nein find themselves discussing the alleged fate of the universe over ale in a run-down tavern, because of course they are, some miles away from Evening Nip in Zadash. They can finally relax and speak freely, attuned to the quick-enchanted amulets Pumat made for them. Ideas have been tossed out and shot down. Shots have been handed out and tossed down. At last, the clink of tankard-on-table snaps Caleb out of his reverie. He shifts in his seat and sips his own drink, tuning back in. </p><p>“What if…” Caduceus drawls, “we *do* have an ace up our sleeve. Someone the Nonagon doesn’t know. Someone he can’t see with all those eyes of his. We rely… we rely too much on just ourselves, sometimes, and I know how family can do that to a person. It’s easy to stay in our little… our little dome. And sure, we can make it a mansion. But doesn’t the mansion always feel better with someone extra at the table? Less empty rooms. More… perspective.”</p><p>Beau is already nodding, working this into her previous ideas. </p><p>“Right, it’s obvious we need someone else to perform the ritual.” She skips over the moral of Cad’s words, zeroing in on the practical matters. “We need Caleb with us and he’s our best magic guy. Besides, he’s got his eye thing and hell if that won’t try to interfere with it. And this really seems like Wizard shit. And we’ve already gotten everything we can from Yussa and Allura--”</p><p>“Eeeeessek?” Jester suggests, abruptly but predictably. There’s a moment of hesitation as the group wrap their minds around it. Caduceus nods, while Beau pulls a face and Veth speaks up. </p><p>“Are we sure we can trust him?” the halfling asks, ever-skeptical. </p><p>“Yes,” Yasha replies. “Though I am not, ah. A good judge of those things. Though it feels as if… he is our only choice.”</p><p>“Why can’t Caleb do it? He’s like, the most powerful, amazing, smart wizard,” Veth begins rambling in that sweet tone of hers. The words make Caleb smile thinly. Sometimes he worried that she just did it to make him feel better, not out of a genuine belief. </p><p>Then, Fjord clears his throat and draws a few glances. He’s been frowning at the world map for a few minutes now, but peers over it now. He looks like a dad at the table lowering his morning newspaper, but as if he was particularly stumped on that day’s crossword.</p><p>“Are we sure Essek’ll even want to help?” he asks, slowing down their thought process. “I mean, Veth, didn’t you shoot the guy a couple days ago?”</p><p>“Was that days ago?” Yasha mutters quietly, rubbing a thumb over the hilt of the holy avenger. </p><p>Caleb sighs softly. He doesn’t want to speak up, but the group glances over at the slight sound. All eyes on him, he swallows and speaks. </p><p>“Beau is right. Though this is an important ritual, I may not be our best… option. The casting cannot be interrupted, or we will fail. We do require some sort of ‘ace’ up our sleeve, as Caduceus said,” he agrees, a slight resignation in his tone. His eyes flick to Fjord. He sees the tension in the half-orc’s eyes, the deep nervousness and worry masked by charisma. “Essek will help,” he reassures. “Unless we shoot him again or worse, he feels indebted to us. Although we would have to offer him protection, he is perhaps the only ally we have mad enough to join us in this. Well. Not mad. Simply… he does not have much to lose.”</p><p>His expression twists as he says the last part. It’s bitterly true. People like Allura have families, Yussa has a home that he’s comfortable in. Essek has neither, distant brother notwithstanding. He was on the run, and it would only take a nudge or two to bring him running alongside them. </p><p>Does that make it okay? No. But is it worth it, for the cosmic good of it all? Maybe. They would find out.</p><p>“Well alright then,” Cad says with a smile, drinking whatever a tavern gives you when you ask for tea on a Folsen evening. “We can do a little scry tonight, then perhaps--”</p><p>“Ooooooo,” Jester winces. “I didn’t think we would need to--”</p><p>The group breaks into bickering once more and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose, elbow on table. His head droops even as Veth tugs on the edge of his scarf. As she does, Frumpkin finds his way back in his lap, kneading and purring. He exhales and pets his familiar, glancing to Veth.</p><p>“I’m sorry I shot your friend,” she confides, having a bit of trouble with her wording. “You just-- you don’t always think clearly, around him, and he’s got *assassins* after him and--”</p><p>Caleb sighs roughly and pulls her into a side hug. </p><p>“It’s okay. I know how nerve-fraying things have been for you lately. But he is *our* friend, if we are to keep pulling him into our messes, ja?”</p><p>“I suppose so,” the halfling sighs, leaning into him with her head on his shoulder. “The idea of having you off on your own away from the fighting just sounds very nice!”</p><p>He chuckles roughly and pulls away, shaking his head. </p><p>“It’s not as wise as you’d think. Whoever is off on their own is also vulnerable. He would also be taking on a great risk,” he admits, rubbing a hand over his upper arm absentmindedly. “But he is very good. He’s been studying much longer than I have.”</p><p>Veth huffs and nearly goes on another tirade about Caleb’s talent, but a knowing look shared between them allows the words to go unspoken. </p><p>“Are you sure he’ll want to help?” she asks. And there’s that question again. In a world where not many are friendly to the Nein, what makes Essek different? </p><p>But Caleb knows. His wry smile becomes sour, solemn almost. He looks down to the drink in his hand. </p><p>“I think it would shock even him, the lengths he would go to for us,” he admits, voice soft and certain. </p><p>And so their course is set, towards their north star once more. </p><p> </p><p>----------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p>The Mighty Nein blink at the word. Unyielding and firm, and yet, very familiar to them. But not from *him.* This was new. Essek has his hands clasped firmly in front of him. His expression is controlled and calm.</p><p>“Did we mention the fate of the world kind of maybe sort of relies on this itty bitty thing?” Jester pleads with a squeak in her voice and a wince in her expression. </p><p>“You did,” he replies calmly, levitating around the small foyer, watching as his guards rotate shifts. Security and efficiency had increased tenfold since they were last at the outpost in Eiselcross. The Nein stand in front of him as if at audience, all in various states of disbelief. Beau scoffs and turns away.</p><p>“Mr. Essek, if I may,” Caduceus steps forth, his height becoming apparent as the group parts slightly to allow him to the front. “I know we have asked much of you these past months. And I know your situation is a perilous one. But I assure you, our heart is in the right place with this. This is-- this is everyone’s business. The return of Aeor? Of that sick city ward and its voices?”</p><p>Essek pauses, eyes cast down and away. But Caleb, and all of them, can see the rigid upright set of his spine. Something’s changed. </p><p>“I understand you embark on a perilous journey-- and yes, if everything you say is true, then the Empire and the Dynasty alike are in danger, but--”</p><p>“But what?” Caleb interjects, stepping forward. </p><p>That stops his train of thought. The drow’s eyes cut upwards, hands folded in front of himself. But his expression is immovable. He glances at his guards. They give him a nod and take their leave, the silence thick in the air as he hovers down to stand on the steps of the foyer rather than on the platform above them. His posture relaxes, but only slightly. </p><p>“But I have people to care for here. Without me, this outpost would crumble. My leave would be noticed. I can’t simply jaunt away from my job, not when I am on such…” he trails off, a twitch in his brow. “On such thin ice, with the Bright Queen. I leave with you all? I seal my fate as an Empire sympathizer. You’re asking me to abandon the Dynasty. You know that, right? I would never be able to go back. My reputation ruined for years, hundreds of years. My head-- wanted for treason. You're asking me to give up... *everything.*”</p><p>The weight of the words sink down on the group. And though they make sense to Caleb, he hates that most of all. He doesn’t even know what to be angry at anymore. At Essek? At the Dynasty, the Empire? Is it the Assembly’s fault, or is it his own?</p><p>Beau steps up, equal parts fire and ice. </p><p>“Listen--”</p><p>“I am listening. Miss Beauregard.”</p><p>Ah, shit. Now he’s gone and done it. Caleb watched Beau’s jaw clench before she exhales and prepares her words.</p><p>“We’ve all made sacrifices to get where we are. And you don’t *have* to do this. But we have a better damn chance of saving the world if you get off-- off your little pedestal and actually help us. I didn’t bend over backwards to break that code just for you to say you don’t want any part in this. Sure, yeah, you’re entitled to your choice. But I’m also entitled to say you’re making the fucking wrong one right now.”</p><p>Once again, the Shadowhand is unmoved. But the group’s ire starts to rise slowly, in a muddled mix of desperation and something else. Caleb stays silent. Watching. Waiting. Fjord nudges Jester forward, a whisper passed between them. </p><p>“Essek.” Jester puts a hand on Beau’s arm, tugging her back. The monk obliges and stands down. “Essek,” she repeats, stepping forth again to stand closer to the drow than anyone else has bothered. He has a single stair step of height above her, though if they were on the same level, they would be eye to eye. “I know you haven’t seen the things we have. And our stories, they don’t feel… real. They didn’t feel real to us either, not for a long time. Just-- please. We’re not doing this because we want to. I want to be home with my mama. I want Veth to be home with Luke and Yeza.”</p><p>Caleb looks to the floor. Jester keeps speaking, some words almost lost to his ears as she talks quietly, just for Essek. </p><p>“We’re doing this because no one else will. And if you can’t come help us. No one else will. Please?”</p><p>Silence tempts Caleb into looking up. Essek turns, looking away from the group, profile caught in conflicted firelight. Caleb’s lips part, seeing that expression. They ask him to give up everything he’s ever known and it’s… tempting, to him. They’re so close to him agreeing, for him to be all in. But that last step felt a mile-long.</p><p>“I don’t know, Jester,” he says, facade slipping. He puts a hand on her arm. Comforting. Apologetic. “I need-- I need time.”</p><p>“We don’t have time,” Beau snaps, just Fjord grabs her shoulder. She quiets.</p><p>Essek turns his back on them and steps up the stairs. The room is empty, hollow almost, and there’s… a silence, throughout the outpost. Eerie and cold, with only the distant howling of wind meeting their ears. One of Essek’s ears twitches at the sound, decorative chains rattling. He turns with concern in his eyes, looking over the group.</p><p>“I’m not-- I’m not some hero,” he admits at last, hands coming to fold in front of him. Flowing sleeves not quite hiding the way they wring and twist. “I’m not like you all. I take my time, I calculate, I’m cautious and cowardly and-- and it’s kept me alive.”</p><p>Caduceus steps forward once again, speaking up with his tone of curious confidence.</p><p>“Mr. Essek, if you please, I… I will not try to disagree with what you’ve convinced yourself of. But perhaps I can say something else. Yes, perhaps, being cautious has gotten you this far. But is this truly what you want? You’re scared, and alone, and… I’m sorry, but just because you’re alive doesn’t mean you’re living.”</p><p>Essek stays silent. He just looks down at the floor. Caleb catches himself wanting to step up, to reach out, but he doesn’t. </p><p>“Maybe we should go,” Yasha whispers to the group, but her voice echoes and carries through the room.</p><p>Immediately, Beau and Nott head for the door. Fjord, too. Even Jester steps off the stairs, looking heartbroken as she follows the others.  </p><p>Caleb finds his feet frozen to the ground. The silence is so-- so loud, blood rushing in his ears. Could they really do this without him?</p><p>"Essek," he whispers, voice hoarse. The drow looks up. Their eyes lock. "We need you."</p><p>Time seems to stop. Silence and stillness suspended, as the walls of the room seem to race away into shadow and darkness. They stand, just the two of them, too far apart. There's too many things to say and no good way to say them. How do you ask a man to give up everything? Caleb steps closer, up the stairs, eye to eye.</p><p>"Alone, I don't have much. I know I don't. But when I stand with them? I do the right thing, I do it well, and I protect my friends. With them? I have something worth living and fighting for." His words grow bold as he steps forwards again, grasping Essek's hand. He doesn't care for the others-- in his mind, they're miles away. He needs to do this. "We're not blind heroes," he continues. "We're just... we're just the people with the plan-- we're the only ones who actually have a chance of being able to stop this mayhem and do some good in the world, and I promise you, if you come with us--"</p><p>Behind him, the door creaks open, loud and echoing. It cuts Caleb's voice off and he turns. Essek's grip tightens on their joint hands. There’s a short murmur from the Nein at the back of the room as a drow guard steps through, armour clanking oddly as she staggers. She has a gauntleted hand pressed to her side, blood dripping onto the marble floors. With a clang, she drops to one knee. </p><p>“Sh- Shadowhand, I-- in-- intruders. A-- a man and a woman.”</p><p>And with that, the guard collapses.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Weeeeeee cliffhanger go brr</p><p>The Cerberus Assembly would like to have a word with their little traitor.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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